The Glazier

We have now to inquire what can cause us to doubt, and how doubt may be removed.
– Baruch Spinoza

We knew from Current Events that the African nations were becoming independent, and that it was no longer correct to prefix Congo with Belgian. We knew nothing of colonialism, only that there were new country names and colorful new flags. Still, it was monumental to realize that the broad map of the world that Mrs. Abrams pulled down at the start of geography class was mutable. That it could suddenly become obsolete was, for me, a tectonic shift.

Of course, this was long before the internet. History came to us as a fait accompli within the covers of a single decades-old textbook. I learned that World War Two came after World War One and that the United States had won them both, as predictably as the Yankees’ annual taking of the World Series. But I knew nothing of the Shoah.

What little I knew I learned from television. There was Sid Caesar with his Teutonic double-talk who had the audience in stitches and German measles which, goodness knows, were not as bad as regular measles, and German chocolate cake, my favorite.

Yes, I was ignorant. But I ask no exemption, no immunity. I do not want denied the guilt I feel.

*

November, 1959. Outside it’s dark and cold. Inside, the last of the heat is slipping through the transom in the classroom where I’m waiting for my ride home from Hebrew school. With me are Hegelman, the class clown, and Schwartz, my best friend. Hegelman is folding and stapling newsletters, punishment for being late to class. Schwartz’s bar mitzvah lesson begins in twenty minutes. He is totally engrossed, sketching in his notebook while he waits.

I met Schwartz at the Y. Six feet tall and an excellent swimmer, he always beat me when we raced laps. I should have had the advantage, he joked, because I didn't have any hair there. At Men’s Swim we didn’t wear trunks.

Schwartz wasn’t just an athlete, he could draw almost anything. Monsters, hot rods, rocket ships: he could reproduce comic book characters down to a T. But pinups were his specialty and they were truly impressive. He could get a dime apiece for them if he wanted, but he never charged me.

He’s working on one now and doesn’t mind me watching. Against all logic — and more out of curiosity than desire — he’s got me peering down the penciled décolletage of his latest creation.

How did he coax such allure from the page? Obviously his pinup drawings weren’t life studies any more than his monsters were. They weren’t even his fantasies, only someone else’s hand-me-downs. Still, I was jealous of his technique, and even more of his ability to pull us around him as he dispensed revelation.

My own attempts at drawing were medieval, lacking perspective, but I wanted to learn. I’d rise early Saturday morning to watch Jon Gnagy’s popular TV show, Learn To Draw.

“If you can draw these simple forms — the ball, cone, cube, and cylinder — you can draw a real picture the very first time you try!” 

Each show began with these thrilling words. Working in charcoal, the perfect medium for our black-and-white TV, Gnagy showed step-by-step how to bring a picture to life. His pompadour sleek and shining, his Van Dyke beard...